Sum of the Parts
by Keesha
Summary: Sam, Callen and a warehouse store. A study of our heroes in an ordinary situation.


_Author's Note: Recently, Sam referenced Costco in an episode and it got me to wondering, as I wandered thru Costco myself one day, how Callen would react in such a store. So, I took a quick break from the other story I'm working on, to pen this one shot of fluff. _

_I freely admit this won't be most people's cup of tea since there is no Callen whumping (heaven forbid), no action (unless you consider shopping adventurous) and dubious humor. Take it for what it is, a study of our heroes in an everyday situation. _

_As always, I own nothing; just having some fun and no disrespect to Costco. My SUV has often been stuffed to the gills after a Costco run. _

Callen parked his black Mercedes, out of the way, to the side of the Hanna household driveway so as not to block their cars, in case Sam or Michelle needed to leave. One lesson he learned early on, was if you were driving the car that kept others from leaving, you were the one that got sent on last minute errands. So, he eased his slick machine over to the left-side of the tarred, black strip, leaving plenty of room for both Michelle and Sam's car to pull out.

Climbing out of the sedan, he was heading for the front when Sam walked out the garage's side door. "This way," the big guy indicated, pointing toward Michelle's burgundy SUV.

Halting, Callen looked askance at Sam. "We're going somewhere? I thought you invited me over for a barbecue?"

"I did. And we're gonna have one. Right after we go shopping," Sam explained rationally as he opened the driver's door to the SUV.

Callen, who had started walking again, stopped in his tracks and nearly took a step backwards. "I don't do shopping," he firmly stated with a shake of his short-shorn head.

"You do if you want to eat." Sam got in behind the wheel looking expectantly at his reluctant partner. He saw the shorter man's eyes dart towards the house's front door. "You can try to go inside if you want, but Michelle will only tell you to come with me. And trust me, you don't want to tick her off."

Any thoughts that Callen had of going inside were immediately quashed. Sam was absolutely right. He didn't want to piss off the passionate, opinionated, compassionate, loving, hell-fire that was Sam's wife. With a martyred sigh, he walked around the deep, red, SUV and hopped into the passenger side. After buckling his seatbelt, he asked, "Where are we going?"

Sam started the engine, pulled out of the driveway and slowly drove thru the residential area. "Costco."

Though he had never stepped foot inside of one, and frankly, never imagined he would, Callen wasn't totally uninformed as to what they were. "The warehouse store? Isn't that for small businesses and people with families the size of a baseball team? You're big, I grant, but Michelle and Kamden can't eat that much and Aiden is still at school."

"Very funny, G," Sam drily remarked. "Costco isn't about size, it's about savings. You can save a lot by buying in bulk, if you know your prices."

"Uh-huh," Callen said skeptically as he gazed out the window at the neat homes that comprised Sam's neighborhood. It was all very idyllic with manicured yards, sidewalks, and children happily playing in the California sunshine.

Sam merged the SUV onto the highway and they rode in silence the rest of the trip to the warehouse store. The parking lot, as it always was mid-morning on a Saturday, was jammed. After little league and soccer practice was over, it appeared everyone and their brother came to Costco. They slowly drove thru the crowded lot, looking for an empty space. Callen saw a few spots near the front door to the store and pointed them out to Sam, who blatantly ignored him.

"Hey, what's the matter with that one?" Callen complained as Sam drive by another prime spot near the entrance.

Sam shook his head. "There are already three cars fighting for that spot."

"So? I know for a fact you aced your tactical driving class. You can take them," Callen rationalized.

Sam gave a little derisive snort. "With my wife's car? You nuts? If I scratch it, she will kill me. And trust me, she is more than capable of doing it." Safely maneuvering the SUV to the outer corner of the parking lot, he chose a space with no other cars around it. "This is perfect." He shut down the engine and got out of the vehicle.

Callen shook his head in disbelief, as he too climbed out, and then did a quick jog to catch up with his rapidly departing partner. After they had walked about twenty feet away from the SUV, Callen stopped to glance back over his shoulder. "You know... he pensively started out.

Sam too halted to see what had captured his partner's interest.

"I knew a guy, who drove a vintage corvette, and he was always concerned about his car getting nicks and dings. So he used to park it in open, secluded areas of the parking lots, safely away from other cars." And while Callen didn't say 'like you just did, Sam', it was implied. "Do you know his car got hit twice because of that strategy?"

A worried frown tugged at the corner of Sam's mouth.

"Yep," Callen continued as turned and started strolling towards the entrance to Costco. "Because the car was out in the open, too exposed, it always managed to get hit. Major bucks to restore each time too." Callen didn't turn his head but he could feel Sam scowling and debating if he should rethink his parking strategy. "Just saying," Callen tossed over his shoulder in the annoying manner he used when he was taunting Sam.

Finally, Sam muttered 'screw it' under his breath and hurried to catch up with his bedeviling friend. When he drew alongside, Callen smirked at him. "Don't worry. If anything happens to Michelle's car, I'll back you up. Say you parked in a safe place."

"More likely throw me to the wolves," Sam groused as Callen's smirk grew a little wider.

Callen continued to head for the entrance, not realizing Sam had veered off to get shopping cart. As the blond strolled thru the wide door to the store, a middle-aged woman, with a clicker in her hand, sporting a Costco vest, announced, "Card, please."

Callen pulled up short, looking around to see whom she was addressing. When he discovered there was no one else nearby, he assumed it must be him. "Excuse me?" he politely queried.

"Your card, please." she repeated with a pleasant smile.

Callen was perplexed and peered about again trying to figure out what he missed. At that moment, a couple came up and flashed an Am-Ex credit card at the woman and she waved them into the store with a click on her counter. "I have to show a credit card to enter?" he asked trying to connect the dots.

"If that is your ID, Sir," she unhelpfully, but cheerfully replied. "Or are you planning to join us today?"

Still in the dark, he asked, "Join who?" In the door came a woman, pushing a child in her cart , who flashed a card at the greeter before continuing into the store.

The Greeter prattled on as if he hadn't spoken. "Because if you are joining, please step over to the counter on your right and they will be happy to process your application."

Callen raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I have to fill out an application to shop here?"

Fortunately for all parties involved, Sam arrived pushing a cart and flashed his card at the Greeter. "He's with me."

Maintaining her pleasant smile, the woman responded, "Thank you. Have a nice visit."

"Come on, G" Sam instructed as he pushed the unwieldy cart into the store. Still confused, Callen trailed along behind his partner.

Once they were fifteen feet into the store, Callen stopped, turned and watched the people coming in the door. They all flashed cards at the Greeter. "So let me get this straight. You have to pay to shop here?" He turned and faced Sam expectantly, waiting for a confirmation to his affirmation.

"You pay to join, become a member," Sam explained though Callen's face showed he wasn't buying into this reasoning.

The two men started traversing the warehouse again. "Sounds like I'm paying to shop. Why would I pay to shop, when I can go to Ralph's grocery store, or the mall and shop for free?" Callen's head swiveled as they walked passed the TVs on display, admiring the large, clear pictures.

"It's a membership fee, G. Like paying to have triple A in case your car breaks down," Sam rationalized to the shorter man who was still memorized by all the big screen TVs on display.

Callen walked closer to inspect the new, curved, 60 inch flat screen, siting on the grey metal shelf, playing the colorful Lego movie. "Yea, but when my car breaks down, triple A comes out and fixes it. I get something for my membership fee."

"And you do here too," Sam said in the sing-song voice he used when he was on the verge of losing his patience to trying to explain something to his intractable partner.

Callen lost interest in the TV and wandered away. "Ah-huh. Still sounds to me like I am paying to shop," he stated with a finality that indicated the subject was closed.

"You're impossible, you know," a vexed Sam informed his stubborn friend.

"So I have been told," Callen replied distractedly as he wandered down the office supply aisle. Sam followed after him pushing the empty shopping cart. Stopping in front of a display of pens, Callen read the side of the box before turning to Sam. "Why would anyone want to buy 250 pens? Can you even use 250 pens in a lifetime?"

"Schools, businesses." Sam reasonably explained, but his partner wasn't buying into that tale.

Callen scoped out the people around them which consisted mostly of families. "I don't see any businessmen."

"They come early in the morning. Before the regular customers."

"And they have to pay to shop here to? The businessmen? Doesn't sound like, well, very good business," Callen decisively concluded.

Sam wanted to reach out and give his partner the business. But refraining his impulse, he merely answered, "They write it off."

Callen looked at the families, then the enormous box of pens and finally at Sam before uttering a skeptical "Mmm-hmmm."

Turning the cart around, Sam headed out of the aisle. "Come on. We don't need anything from this section."

Callen caught up to Sam and walking along side of the cart, he began to eye it. Sam knew by the expression on his partner's face, he was about to start again. The agent pointed out the obvious. "That cart is huge."

"Because you are buying in bulk." Sam figured that was the end of the conversation but he was wrong.

Examining the cart some more, Callen declared, "If Deeks were to use this, when he goes undercover as a bum, he could sleep in it."

Sam have his partner a 'get-real' eye roll and Callen simply shrugged and smugly repeated,"Just saying."

"I'm gonna hurt you," Sam muttered though he must not have been as discrete as he thought because the woman passing him, pushing a cart full of items, eyed him suspiciously. Sam gave her a disarming smile. "It's a figure of speech." Still, the woman gave him a wide berth as she passed. When she was gone, Sam dropped his smile and growled "Come on," at Callen.

It didn't take Sam long to discover shopping with Callen, in Costco, was like shopping with a four-year-old; every time he turned around, the man had wandered off, and when Sam finally relocated him, every sentence out of Callen's mouth started with 'Why?' Why did someone need three frying pans of varying sizes? Why would anyone want ten replacement heads for an electric toothbrush? Was anyone that bad, they needed a hundred pack of golf balls? Why would anyone want twenty pairs of sweat socks? Though on the last question, after Callen thought about it for a moment, then did the math, he conceded only having to do laundry every three weeks might be worth having to store twenty socks.

As the two agents headed towards the back of the store, the household products changed over to food related ones. The giant packs of chicken breasts, monster-sized slabs of salmon and huge, plastic trays of steaks didn't elicit much reaction from Callen . However, when they got to the bakery goods, G's eyes lit up and he made a beeline for the enormous, shrink-wrapped box of over-sized muffins. As he was about to reach for them, the colossal chocolate chip cookies, in a clear plastic container to his right, caught his eye. Forgetting about the muffins, he instead, scooped up the fifty pack of cookies, turned and happily plopped them in the shopping cart.

Sam raised his eyebrows at his partner's selection. "Really? There is no way you need that many cookies."

"Yea, I do," Callen earnestly replied like a child trying to convince his elder, he desperately needed that toy or the world would end. "They're for the office. To share."

Reaching into the shopping cart with his long, muscular, arms, Sam grabbed the cookies and firmly placed them back on the display table. "I spend too much time, carrying your ass, around to let you eat all those cookies and gain twenty pounds."

Squaring his shoulders and appearing defiant, Callen exclaimed, "I said I would share!"

"G, one of those cookie has 210 calories and 11 grams of fat. You'd have to spilt that cookie in four pieces to even begin to pretend it is healthy," Sam pointed out, showing his friend the nutrition label.

"Huh." Callen was surprised to find there was that many calories in a single cookie that would take him less than a minute to eat. "How about the oatmeal ones, instead?" he inquired as his eyes slid to them. "They have fruit in them."

Sam's forefinger tapped the nutrition label again and after Callen read it, he gave a low whistle. "230 calories and 9 grams of fat. However, there are raisins in them which makes the healthy." Snagging the package, he dropped it in the cart. "And I like oatmeal cookies better anyways."

For a moment, in the middle of the bakery department, the two partners locked eyes and had a silent battle of the wills. Finally, Sam gave in by shoving the cart towards the meat department. "Fine, but if you get too fat for me to carry, I am leaving you behind."

"No worries," Callen replied confidently. "You're strong and I have a great metabolism."

The next section was fresh fruits and vegetables where Sam spent an inordinate amount of time in Callen's opinion, so when he got bored, he wandered around the corner to beverages and paper goods. He strolled past the cases of flavored waters, plain water, orange juice, ice tea and soda. Seeing a young mother struggling to get a case of water into her cart, he stepped up and assisted. She gave him a grateful smile before moving on with her shopping.

The paper goods were the next thing he came across; an aisle of tissues, paper towels and toilet paper, all shrink-wrapped by the dozen. Quickly doing the math in his head, basing it on his average consumption rate, he decided if he took one pack of each, he might not have to buy tissues, paper towels or toilet paper for at least a year. Since going to the grocery store was near the bottom of his favorite things to do list, right below getting lectured by Hetty and one spot above being shot, he decided this plan was a go. Now, he simply needed to chose which brand to purchase. Like a good consumer, he compared price verses quality before making his final decision.

With a gigantic pack of paper-towels under his right arm and the toilet paper ensconced under his left, he stared at the final item, the tissues, debating how to get them to the cart. Using his foot to knock one of the plastic-encased multi-packs to the ground, he bent and squeezed the tissues between the TP and the paper-towels in his arms. Slowly straightening, he headed back in the direction he'd last seen Sam and the cart. It was a bit of a challenge moving with his unwieldy purchases thru the sea of ginormous shopping carts, elderly munching on the free samples, and the hordes of kids running about the store. A sigh of relief escaped his lips when he finally spotted Sam.

Coming up alongside the cart, he dropped the three items on the floor, next to it, before meeting his partner's eye. "Planning on company?" Sam asked drily, though there was a definite twinkle in his brown eyes.

"Nope. With these," he gave a little arm sweep which passed over all the items in question, "I won't have to go to the store for a year! " Callen picked up the toilet paper to place it in the cart. "And don't be asking to use my bathroom when you drop by. It will throw off the calculated usage rates."

Sam shook his head as he watched Callen lift the toilet paper in an attempt to place it in the basket. The cart, which had been relatively empty when Callen had left Sam, was now up to the rim, full with boxes of cereal, milk, vegetables, meat and other items. Callen looked up at Sam. "Where am I supposed to put my stuff?"

Sam had a suggestion, but since they were surround by impressionable children, he remained silent. "Give me that," he demanded grabbing the TP from Callen. A few minutes later, Sam had the cart totally rearranged and Callen's purchases safely ensconced within the wire boundaries.

Callen watched in amusement as his anal partner arranged things until they met his demanding standards. "If Hetty ever fires you, you can be a professional packer."

"She's more likely to fire you. And from what I have seen, you have no other marketable skills," Sam grouchily countered.

"Guess I'll have to come live with you, Michelle, and the kids when I can't afford to pay my bills," Callen quipped as the two men headed into the aisle containing the upright frozen food cases.

"Guess again," Sam suggested as he pulled open the clear door and snagged a large package of icy, mixed, vegetables.

Callen eyed the big bag of veggies with mild disdain. "If you didn't buy those, then Michelle couldn't use them in her Sunday night surprise casseroles. She would be forced to make something else, like reservations."

Sam opened another door and removed a jumbo bag of frozen strawberries. "I'm gonna tell Michelle you said that."

With great sincerity, Callen begged, "Please don't."

Sam chuckled as he finessed the cart around the corner and down the next frozen food aisle. "G Callen, super-spy, is afraid of my wife."

In all seriousness, Callen replied, "I freely admit I am. And you should be too. She is tougher than both of us...combined."

"Michelle and I are partners, G. A harmonious team. We respect and support each other in all things. Sam grabbed a twin pack of eggs and gently placed them in the cart.

Called quirked an eyebrow at his buddy not buying into his kumbaya scenario. "You're as afraid of her as I am."

Sam smiled and his handsome dimples made an appearance. "Damn straight."

As Sam headed for the yogurt, Callen walked to the opposite wall of cases containing frozen, prepared foods. By the time Sam had chosen his yogurt and squeezed it into the nearly full cart, Callen wandered back over with a box of frozen cheeseburgers, egg rolls, mozzarella sticks and potstickers in his arms.

"What the hell?" Sam blurted out as he saw Callen struggling under his load.

"When I get home late, and I'm hungry, I'll pop one of these in the microwave." Callen dropped the items haphazardly into the cart.

"Watch the eggs," Sam scolded rescuing the fragile shelled items. "Put those things back."

"Why?" the questioning child rose to the surface again.

Sam reached into the cart and grabbed the egg rolls. "These require using the oven. Have you ever turned the oven on in your kitchen?"

Callen was about to snap back a snarky reply when it dawned on him while he did know where the oven was in his kitchen, he had no idea if it worked.

The expression on Callen's face said it all, so Sam shoved the box at Callen, forcing him to take it. Picking up the mozzarella sticks, he dropped them on top of the egg roll box already in Callen's arms. "Also requires an oven."

"Seriously, Sam? Whoa," Callen complained as Sam dropped the bag of potstickers on the growing pile in Callen's arms. "I know they don't require an oven."

"You are indeed correct, Chef Callen." Callen's triumphant smile faded as Sam continued. "Tell me, do you like them brown and crunchy on the outside?" Sam folded his arms across his chest as he waited for the reply, already knowing the answer.

"What kind of question is that?" Callen asked indignantly. "That is what makes them good!"

"Exactly," Sam agreed in concert. "And do you know how they get that way?" Sam lead his proverbial lamb to the slaughter.

"Not in the oven," Callen emphatically stated, even though he had no idea how potstickers got brown and crunchy.

Sam unfolded his arms and started ticking off the steps on his fingers. "First, you have to get a pot and boil water. Then you have to place the potstickers in the boiling water and cook them. Next, you have to drain them. But we're not done yet. Now, you have to get a frying pan, heat some oil in it and when it is hot, fry the dumplings, flipping them to get both sides, until they are golden brown. Depending on the size of your frying pan, and how many you prepare, you may have to fry them in batches. And if you don't want them to get cold, you have to figure out a way to keep them warm. I'd suggest the oven but then again...," Sam spread his arms wide to complete the sentence.

Mentally, Callen had been adding the time up in his head to prepare these stupid potstickers and decided take out was seeming like a better life-style choice. He was about to say something, but Sam cut him off. "And, don't forget after you are done eating you have to wash all those dishes or at least put them in the dishwasher."

"I have a dishwasher and I know it works," Callen interjected before Sam could ask. What he wasn't going to say is why he knew it worked. The story revolved around a broken washer, not wanting to go to a laundry mat and a desperate need for underwear. It hadn't been a pretty experiment or a particularly successful one.

Both men eyed the remaining box of cheeseburgers, still sitting in the cart. Callen did a pre-emptive strike. "Those can be cooked in a microwave, in less than three minutes, without the need for any additional pots, pans or preparation."

"High in sodium. Loads of fat. At least when you get Chinese or Thai take out, there are some vegetables sneaking their way into your diet."

"Like Michelle's mixed vegetables in her Sunday surprise casserole," Callen muttered tapping a forefinger on the aforementioned item in the cart.

Sam picked up the box of burgers and sandwiched them between the bag of potstickers and box of mozzarella sticks in Callen's arms. "G, those burgers will kill you faster than our job."

"Fine," the shorter man grumbled as he put the products back in their respective cases. "Easier to get take-out anyway. Or bum meals off of other people."

"You are always welcome at our table, G," Sam said faux-pleasantly as he started pushing the cart down the aisle again.

"Ya think you could get Michelle to stop with the Sunday surprise casseroles?" Callen asked earnestly.

"You can ask her, when we get back," Sam suggested as he put a box of black bean pasta in his cart.

"Ah, maybe I'll just stop coming over on Sundays and," he eyed the box of weird pasta, "whenever you plan to serve that."

With a sideways tip of his head, Sam declared, "Black beans are good for you."

"Not when they are molded into spaghetti. Who even thinks of an item like that?" Callen mused aloud.

Sam pushed the cart into the cleaning supply area. "People who want to live to a long and healthy life."

"That rules me out." Callen walked over and examined a gallon size container of detergent pods. "What are these?"

Sam was annoyed by his partner's flippant view of his own mortality. The big guy wasn't unrealistic, and knew the job he and Callen did was very dangerous. But he couldn't help thinking that his partner's disregard for his own safety at times, was leaning towards becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy. His voice was tight with aggravation as he answered Callen's question. "Those are soap pods. You use them in place of liquid detergent or soap powder."

Surprised by the undertones of anger in Sam's voice, Callen studied his partner for a moment. He couldn't figure out how asking about soap pods had annoyed the big guy. He cocked his head to the side and quirked an eyebrow at Sam.

Easily understanding the unasked question, Sam schooled his voice to be as neutral as possible. "I hate tunnels, I hate clowns and I hate the thought of having to watch you die."

The widening of Callen's pupils, gave away the fact that he now realized his flippant answer had upset Sam. Callen had been on then brink of death enough times, that it didn't quite pack an impact anymore. Maybe One Republic had it right, 'Everything that kills me makes me feel alive'.

He knew Sam thought he was occasionally reckless, but in Callen's mind, his actions were realistic, not foolhardy. And the blond damn-well-knew if it ever became a choice between his life or Sam's, it was no contest; he'd sacrifice everything to keep the big guy alive.

Callen stared at Sam. "You've worked through the first two, when you have had to. You'll work thru the last." It was a very heavy vibe for the cleaning product aisle of Costco, so as Callen turned to walk across the main aisle to the snack section, he tossed over his shoulder, "Don't worry. If I get there first, I'll scope the place out for you. Find a nice place for you to spend all eternity."

Sam pulled back from the moment with his own flip remark. "I'm pretty sure we're not going to the same location in the hereafter. In fact, you'd better stock up on the deodorant. The sell it in a six-pack. Aisle 2. You're gonna definitely need it where you are going."

Though he was amused by Sam's comeback, he still threw a three finger salute at his partner over his shoulder.

As Callen wandered thru the junk food aisles, Sam went into the drug aisle and picked up the last minute items Michelle had texted to his phone. As an after thought, he tossed an industrial sized bottle of aspirin and a quart size jar of adult chewable multi-vitamins in the cart. When he met back up with Callen by the registers, he announced, "I got you a present, G."

Callen, who was trying to sneak a pack of 1000 tootsie pops into the bottom of the cart, straightened and glanced at the upper portion of the shopping basket. Unfortunately, the first thing his eye fell upon was a huge box of a feminine product. His eye went from the item, to Sam's face, which was wearing a smug smile, similar to the one Callen often sported. "Ah," Callen voice betrayed his slight embarrassment, "Couldn't you have bought regular bandages?"

Sam laughed at his squirming partner, who was distinctly uncomfortable. "The aspirin and the vitamins are for you, G. The other things are for Michelle, though I am sure the next time you get shot, she'd be happy to give you some, to use as a bandages. That is, if you ask her nicely."

Why his partner went there in his mind, Sam had no clue. But he knew, based on the mild redness creeping up the fair-skinned man's neck, that his partner was envisioning standing in front of Michelle and making the request. Sam burst out laughing as Callen stalked off to examine a 100 pack of manly straight razors, while he composed himself. "In the next aisle, you can find pink razors," he yelled after his partner.

Sam got in line with the cart and the efficient cashiers were soon checking out his items. As he placed the products from the cart onto the black revolving belt, he was astonished by how many extra items Callen had managed to sneak into the basket. He knew about the cookies and tootsie pops, but he also found a ten pack of led flashlights, batteries, bag of chips, a t-shirt, blue of course, a container of laundry pods, and a box of high-quality, dark chocolates; the ones, coincidentally, Michelle adored.

Callen strolled up and tossed a pack of razors on the belt. Sam frowned at his partner, who stood there nonchalantly watching, as the items were scanned, then placed back into the cart. "You're going to pay me for your stuff," Sam informed Callen as told the cashier to charge it to his personal Am-Ex card.

Callen started to say something, then was distracted by the food court behind the registers. "Wow, those are great prices," he declared as he abruptly brushed past Sam and fought his way thru the crowds to the counter. In the short span of time it took for Sam to pay, collect his receipt and thank the cashier and packer, Callen had managed to procure a hotdog, container of cheese-covered nachos, churro and large soft drink. The obviously hungry man stood there, balancing all the objects in his hands, while somehow managing to munch on the hotdog.

Mumbling around the food in his mouth, Callen said, "Sorry big guy. All out of tofu dogs. Want a nacho?" He thrust the greasy container towards his partner, who recoiled in horror.

"Get that crap away from me. You're nuts!"

Callen polished off the hotdog, washing it down with the half the soda. "So you've noted before," Callen replied, when his mouth was empty.

"And still, it does no good," Sam complained. "You're not taking any of that messy junk in my car." Sam gestured to an empty table. "Sit."

Callen slid into the plastic seat, dropping his remaining food on the none-to-clean white table top. "It's Michelle's car," Callen corrected as he dug into the nachos with gusto.

Sam shook his head, got up, walked over to the where the napkin dispenser was and grabbed a handful. He shoved them at Callen before sitting back down. "You know we're having a cook-out, right?"

"Don't worry. I'll be hungry," Callen assured him.

Sam had to admit his partner's eating habits continually baffled him. Callen consumed more junk food than the average teenager, yet he never gained an ounce. When it was time for his yearly medical review, the man passed with flying colors. Some days, Callen would eat like a horse and on others, Sam would have to nag him (no pun intended). Sam had a theory that when Callen was focused, deep in the throes of a case, he forgot about the little things in life, like eating. It was then, if Sam didn't stay on top of him, G would skip meals. Before Sam made it part of his mission to keep an eye on Callen's nutritional needs, he'd seen his partner drop ten to twenty pounds during a tough case. Now, when Sam saw Callen starting to hike up his jeans, he made it a point to force him to consume the required calories to maintain his weight. Perhaps there was a good reason Callen called him a 'mother-hen'. But Sam knew it was in his best interest, the teams and G's to keep the man healthy; their lives often depended on their team lead.

The corollary to Sam's theory was on the occasions when Callen allowed himself to relax, food became a priority. The fact that Callen always seemed to have a good appetite around him, and his family, actually made a small smile creep across Sam's face as he watched the nachos disappear. It meant Callen trusted him.

"What are you smiling about over there," Callen inquired. "You're creeping me out."

Sam let his smile grow even larger, until his dimples made an appearance. "Just thinking that we should go for a nice, five mile run, when we get back to the house."

Callen licked off the messy, bright orange cheese from his fingers before picking up the churro. "No," he answered succinctly as he consumed the doughy stick. When it was gone, Callen wiped his hands on the napkins Sam had supplied, gathered his empty cartoons, stood and deposited them in the nearby trash can. He turned and looked expectantly at Sam, waiting for him to rise.

"Go wash your hands," Sam commanded as if Callen was a seven-year-old boy. "You're not getting in my car with those greasy paws."

"Michelle's car," Callen corrected but he did what he was told, heading back down the cement floor towards the men's room. When he came back, he mischievously held out his hands for Sam's inspection.

With a grunt, Sam rose, ignored Callen's out-stretched hands and started pushing the cart toward's the exit. Callen watched in silence, though Sam knew it was only a matter of time as he handed the receipt to the woman standing by the door, who scanned it, the cart, and then drew a line down the long strip of paper before handing it back to Sam. With a pleasant smile, Sam returned the greeting of 'have a nice day' before pushing the overloaded cart out the door, into the parking lot.

Sam made a bet to himself, whether or not they would reach the SUV, before Callen made a snarky remark about the receipt process. Much to his surprise, Callen made it all the way thru the parking lot and didn't say a word until the tall man raised the rear lift gate on the car.

As Callen helped Sam stow the items, he finally remarked, "That woman. Checking the receipts. Not much of a theft deterrent." The smaller agent neatly stacked his items on the left side of the SUV and Sam's to the right.

"It's part of the atmosphere, G," Sam explained as he stowed the eggs in a safe spot.

Callen shoved his toilet paper and paper towels into the back seat. "What kind of atmosphere are you trying to portray when you get checked in and checked out?"

"It's a club. Like when you go to a health club. Don't they check you in? Or a night club?" Sam slammed the hatch before walking away to return the cart to a nearby pen. When he returned, Callen was already in the front seat, sucking on a tootsie pop.

"Again with the eating," Sam noted as he slid behind the wheel.

Removing the candy from his mouth, Callen gestured to the cup holder. "Wrapper is there. Want me to drive so you can give expression to your artistic and sensitive side?"

"Hell no. You driving Michelle's car, or any Hanna car. It ain't that cold yet."

Callen put on a little pouty face and stuck his lollipop back in his mouth. "It's comments like that, pal, which will have you needing deodorant in the after-life too," he remarked around the sweet in his mouth. "Besides, I have driven the Challenger."

"Technically yes, but not because I ever wanted you to. There have just been circumstances, when I have been forced to allow you to drive her."

After going silent for a few minutes, Callen asked, "Would you ever have let me drive Charlene? If she hadn't been destroyed?"

Sam didn't directly answer the question posed. "Why would you have wanted to drive Charlene? She is really not your type."

The lollipop came out of his mouth, into his left hand, where he began to twirl it. "Really?" Callen said in that tone of voice that immediately told Sam they were about to have one of 'those' conversations. "Exactly what is my type?" Callen emphasized the word 'is' in capital letters.

Sam gave a little shoulder roll. "You're more of a Toyota or Honda guy. Something utilitarian." After considering his statement, Sam added, "Though you do like to drive fast, so you'll put the biggest damn engine you can under the hood. She'll go fast, but she won't be anything to look at."

"You have noticed that Hetty gives me with Aston Martins, Jaguars, and Mercedes to drive," he defiantly pointed out to his partner.

"Many of which you have crashed. Besides technically, Hetty provides your aliases with those cars, not you."

Sticking the candy in his other hand, Callen whipped out his phone. "Ok. Let's ask Hetty what type of car 'G. Callen' would drive."

Turning off the highway, Sam appeared a bit skeptical about the plan. "You're going to call Hetty, on a Saturday afternoon, to ask her what type of car you should drive."

"Why not?" Callen thumbed the number on his phone. "She probably knows exactly what we are doing. She always does."

Sam had to silently admit his partner had a point and he couldn't stop his eyes from roaming the interior of the vehicle, trying to spot the hidden camera, even though it was Michelle's car; Hetty knew no bounds.

Callen started talking into the phone and Sam focused on the half-conversation.

"Yes. It was an interesting experience." Pause. "No, don't think I will be joining anytime soon." Obviously, Callen had been correct that the all knowing Ops Manager had tabs on them.

A small sigh escaped Callen's lips. "Uh-huh. I will be bringing the cookies into work. Sam has already informed me they lack nutritional value." Apparently the little-ninja-mother was concerned about Callen's health too.

A slight flush tainted the side of Callen's neck. "If you have to... yes... to include the toilet paper. No, I didn't buy any bathroom cleaning supplies. Why?" The grimace on Callen's face indicated he didn't enjoy the answer.

"Look, not to cut you off, Hetty, but we are almost back to Sam's house and we have a difference of opinion you need to weigh in on. What type of car would I drive?" Pause. "No, not my aliases but me, G. Callen."

There was another pause where Callen's frown deepened. "Very funny. I like to think I do exist, even if it is just with an initial."

There was a few minutes more of dead silence before Callen curtly interjected, "Gotta go," and brusquely hung up the phone, stuck his tootsie pop back in his mouth and stared moodily out the car's window.

Sam turned the corner. "So, what did she say?"

"Have a nice barbecue." Callen viscously crunched down on his candy, aggressively chewing on the soft center.

It was at that moment that Sam knew exactly what Hetty had said to his pouting partner. "She agreed with me didn't she," Sam gloated as he turned the SUV into his driveway.

"No," Callen lied as he took the empty stick from his mouth.

"Oh come on, G. If you are gonna lie, at least try to make it convincing. My life my some day depend on it." Sam pulled up towards the garage and parked in Michelle's normal spot.

"I lie very well, thank you. I think," Callen declared as he unbuckled his seat belt and exited the vehicle, "you and Hetty are highly mis-categorizing me." With a slightly wound air, he went to the back of the SUV, raised the hatch, and started transferring his purchases to the black Mercedes, that according to Sam and Hetty, G. Callen shouldn't be driving.

Sam was amused that his partner kept sulking as he helped bring the Hanna's purchases into the kitchen. At one point, Michelle noticed Callen's sullenness and inquired as to the origin.

Sam rolled his eyes as Callen proceeded to ask his wife what type of car G. Callen would drive. Without hesitation, she promptly answered a pickup truck, going on to specify its color as bright blue.

That stopped Sam in his tracks. He turned to his wife and said in an incredulous tone, 'Really! G hates horses. He's no cowboy and his aversion to vegetables rules out farmer."

"My behind-the-times husband, pick up trucks are way beyond farmers and cowboys. It is a well known fact that women think guys who drive pick up trucks are sexy. A truck will help spice up G's love-life."

Callen wasn't sure if Michelle was pranking him and the smile she wore on her lips wasn't telling. At this point, the conversation had spiraled as low as Callen was going to allow, so he changed topics. "Dinner ready?"

"You still hungry after everything you ate at Costco?" she shot back and Callen's head whipped around to stare at Sam. "You told her? Or does she have you wired like Hetty?" he demanded of his stunned partner.

"I didn't tell her anything!" Sam defended his honor.

"Boys," Michelle broke in, silencing both men. "G, Sam didn't have to tell me a thing. You have a stain on your shirt, cheese from nachos I'd wager."

Callen dropped his head and to his dismay, discovered she was correct.

"And the small ketchup smudge on your left cheek," she reached up a motherly finger and scrubbed it off, "conveys the fact you had a hotdog. And I know you are one of those strange people in the world that uses ketchup on a dog."

Sam, a native New Yorker, couldn't suppress a grin. Sam only put mustard on his hotdogs which had lead to many an argument with his uncouth ketchup topping partner.

"I also know you had a soda to wash it down rather than water," Michelle continued. "And given you have a sweet tooth, I'd say a churro was probably your dessert. How did I do, Special Agent G Callen?"

Callen, caught between chagrin and amusement, replied, "You missed one thing."

Michelle put her hands on her hips and stared knowingly at him. "You mean the tootsie-pop, on the way home, in the car? My car? I know you are headed out there right now to remove that wrapper from my center console? While Sam might find it amusing to decorate with used candy wrappers, I do not!"

Throughly whipped, Callen nodded mutely, turned and head back out to the car with Sam trailing along behind. "This is why I stay single," he muttered to Sam.

Sam clapped him heartily on the back. "Women are amazing, G."

"Mmm-hmmm," he intoned in his usual way that said he was simply humoring Sam. He collected the wrapper from the car and tossed it in the nearby trash can. When he turned around, he found Sam staring at him in a contemplative manner.

Uncomfortable, and knowing whatever Sam was thinking about he wasn't going to like, Callen found himself asking anyways. "What?"

"I know you have lived a hard life, G. Things that happened to you, growing up, they were wrong."

Even though Callen was embarrassed by the track of this conversation, he hid it and stared coolly at Sam. "The past is the past."

Sam nodded in concurrence. "Exactly my point. Don't let your past define you. You'll miss out on too much in life."

Callen's blue eyes continued to stare at Sam dispassionately. "Our past defines us all. The whole is equal to the sum of the parts. Nothing more. Nothing less."

"Says the lone wolf. As a SEAL, I prefer to think the whole is greater than the sum of its parts."

Called tilted his head a bit and shrugged. "Half empty guy," he said referring to himself, "Half full guy," he said pointing at Sam.

"And together, a full glass. A partnership. A team."

"Well," Callen drawled as he started heading back towards the house. "This half of the team is empty and if you don't go start the grill, your lovely wife might be tempted to take that big bag of veggies you bought in the store you have to pay to shop in, and make her Sunday surprise a day early."

"I'm so gonna tell her you said that," Sam threatened as the two men headed around to the back deck where the grill was located.

"No, you won't," Callen said with confidence as he propped his lean body up against the deck railing.

Sam lifted the lid on the rectangular, black, Weber grill, adjusted the knobs and lit the burners. "Oh yeah. And why is that?"

"Cause, I'll tell Michelle that every Monday, when she lovingly packs you the Sunday surprise leftover for your lunch, you toss them in the trash."

The guilty look on Sam's face said it all. "Uh-huh," Callen went on. "I am sure Michelle will be thrilled to know you dispose of her hard work in the garbage and get Deeks to bring you something from whatever truck craze he is on that day."

Since Sam seemed to be at a loss for words, Callen helped him out. "I think the word you are searching for, to borrow from Deeks, is 'touche'. Callen shrugged casually at Sam's death-ray glare. "But hey. I still love ya. So much that I have reconsidered my position and if you need to use the toilet paper in my house, have at it. For you, my brother, I will brave Costco again."

Sam muttered a less than gracious thanks.

Callen pushed of the rail and headed into the house to see if he could assist Michelle. "Of course," he added as he walked by Sam. "We're using your card to get in. I still think only suckers pay to shop."

Sam stood, alone on his deck, wondering if it was worth Hetty's ire to walk into the house and strangle his irritating partner. After a moment of introspection, he decided a more stealthily, less lethal solution would be better. After all, he had spent many years molding Callen into a nearly, acceptable co-worker. Sam decided the next time they were sparring in the gym, a few, well-placed, punishing blows, might help knock sense into his ever smug partner. And even if it didn't, it certainly would make Sam feel better. Plus, he had a huge box of 'bandages' on the off chance he made his partner bleed. Life is good. And so is Costco.

THE END

_Author's Note: Thanks for reading. Always love to hear your thoughts via reviews._


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